Charge Me Some Peanuts & Cracker Jack

Last Wednesday was a beautiful day, I had vacation time and the Guardians were playing an afternoon game. Let's go to the ballpark!

Mr. Ginley was pleased, since he hadn't been to a baseball game in a few years, and we can't get the Guardians on our local channel.  

So, we took out a second mortgage on the house, hopped on the Rapid downtown and headed over to what I still refer to as Jacobs Field.

The first challenge had been the tickets. Texts between Mr. Ginley and son gave me the name of the app I needed to download to purchase them. After jumping through a few hoops, the tickets showed up on my phone. Mr. was a little nervous until we got there and they actually worked at the gate. 

We had been warned that the ballpark takes mostly credit, so that was the way we had to play it, although Mr. is not thrilled with charging everything. Given the prices, it was probably just as well I didn't have to carry that much cash. Mr. got a cheeseburger and I got a burrito (classic ballpark fare). Neither one of us wanted to fork over $5 for a box of Cracker Jack, especially since I'd just bought three boxes for like a buck at the grocery store the week before. 

Meanwhile, back at the ballpark...

We found our seats and wedged in between several noisy neighbors and settled in. Obviously, the seats belonged to a season ticket holder, because the people to the right of us were talking about getting their tickets from a friend. They only stayed an hour. On the one hand, we were thinking, "Why did you bother?" and on the other, we were like "Good riddance." (I think our tolerance for John Q. Public has run out.)

The game itself was fun for the first three innings. In the fourth, the pitcher lost his mojo and quickly gave up four runs. There was no heroic comeback after that.

I must say I'm very happy with the pitch clock. I like that players have a limited amount of time to get down to business. One of the most onerous parts of the game for me was watching the batter step out of the box, rewrap his wrists, swing his bat and adjust his balls after every stinking pitch. The game went by at a pleasant pace, and soon we were singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame. 

Afterward, we walked up East 4th Street and had a slice of pizza at Geraci's before heading home. All in all, it was a great way to spend an afternoon.

And no, in case you're wondering, I'm not one of those Tribe fans who thinks the team should still be called the Indians. I'm totally cool with the Guardians. I've always been fond of the Art Deco Guardians of Traffic statues on the Lorain-Carnegie Bridge. 

I am a diehard about that name. I'll never call it the Hope Memorial Bridge.